Wait a second, isn’t music video dead? Didn’t it bite the dust when MTV went to scripted programming? How many years did we hear musicians bitch about this?

They were completely wrong. Video is bigger than ever. And it’s in your hands as opposed to the gatekeepers’. It’s the same, yet different, as everything is in the future.

This clip is cut from the same cloth as Madonna’s “Sex” book. That’s the appeal, it’ll bring so many looky-loos, but in this case you don’t have to buy it to see it, that’s so last century, it’s free for the taking on the internet. Because in today’s world you don’t charge for everything, you garner your audience and monetize later, like the tech companies.

Now there was a premiere at the Forum. At first I bought the press reaction, to this and the Madison Square Garden reveal, that everybody’s showing up for a non-show. But the truth is when you’re young and dumb with nothing better to do you do. Show up, that is. I remember going to record store in-stores, just to be close to the band. If I were still twenty five I’d pay $25 to go to the Forum. To be part of the experience. Come on, imagine the story you could tell, you could dine out on it for weeks!

And since the Forum is an all music building, little advance planning was necessary. So different from being beholden to sports teams in arenas that view music as a second-class citizen.

And there was little advance notice. When tours go on sale a year ahead of time, locking up that dough, all commerce, this was a whim. It was happening right away. Kanye knows the modern paradigm. Just like advance publicity is history, you don’t want a long lead time, immediacy is everything. And, in a world dominated by screens, hanging with real live people is such a thrill. It’s worth twenty five bucks.

So, you had the event, which was monetized. At a very low price.

And now you’ve got the video.

Unlike in the days of MTV, you can watch it on demand. You don’t have to wait for it to come up. This is what Netflix knows and terrestrial radio doesn’t understand. We want it all and we want it now, and if you aren’t moving your enterprise in that direction you’re headed for the trash bin.

And despite its fame, ratings for MTV were paltry. 100,000 people at a time was de rigueur. Well, right now 70,898 people are simultaneously streaming “Famous” on the feed I’m watching. But they can play it again and again, embed it on social media, spread the word… Today music is a virus, and it can infect broad swaths of the public rapidly.

But then it so frequently burns out. This is a stunt. We won’t be talking about it next month, if we’re even discussing it next week. But that’s okay, Kanye will come up with something else. Whilst radio takes a year to move a track up the chart modern creators know it’s not about reaching every last potential audience member, but satiating the core and moving on.

As for the content, when you marry boobies and fame you’ve hit the jackpot. All but the asexual want to see this clip at least once. Hell, you slow down on the freeway to view an accident, right?

And this is a trainwreck the media can’t avoid covering. The modern media, which has little analysis but loves headlines which generate clicks so they can sell advertising. Kanye is their dream, whether you like him or not.

And Kanye claiming it’s all real just adds fuel to the fire. Come on who would believe this? But the press prints it.

But they won’t tell the story of the up and coming act, unless the performer has an ace PR person. But even if you get ink, there’s no virality, which is the juice that fuels the enterprise today. If it’s not spreading, it’s not happening.

If you were alive back when, when Madonna put out her book, you might claim you’ve seen this before. But not really. Not only is this externally focused, not solely about Kanye in the clip, it’s a demonstration of modern pull, whereas Madonna was all about push. The media and the public are coming to Kanye. Madonna had to push her book down our throats, she’s still utilizing that paradigm, not knowing she appears desperate.

But few can be as hot as Kanye.

But he’s not a creature of the machine, he did all this himself.

That’s what the modern tools will give you.

That’s what the internet provides.

It’s all good, as the kids say.

Watch here:

Kanye West’s “Famous” Video

I heard “Black Dog” at Tony’s Pizza.

I don’t know if students get drunk the same way we did back in college, when they lowered the drinking age to eighteen and imbibing was a novelty, when all we’d ever known was dope. We didn’t go to fraternity parties, the Greeks certainly were not freaks and their entire system was anathema. Instead, every Friday and Saturday night we’d buy a six pack, Schlitz, you never wanted to be a Budweiser person, it might have been the King of Beers but we saw it as pedestrian, and if it was a special weekend we went with Michelob. It’d start around 8, in somebody’s dorm room, no one lived off campus, it was always in the dorm. And at some point as the evening wore on we needed sustenance, and the only option was at the edge of campus, the aforementioned Tony’s Pizza, where the pies were only one step up from edible, back before there was any delivery, never mind Domino’s.

Actually, it was the manager of Tony’s who convinced us to drink Schlitz. Twenty seven, he seemed so much older than us, with a wife and a kid and a Plymouth Duster. We ultimately became friends, he let us make our own pizzas in the back, we spent a lot of time at Tony’s, and we knew everything on the jukebox.

This was the fall of ’71. So there was a lot of “Riders On The Storm.” Morrison had just died, the band had been in a lull, they’d parted ways with their producer, we expected dreck but we got a classic.

And then there was “Black Dog.”

I was done with Led Zeppelin. An early adopter, I’d seen them in the rain at Yale Bowl just before I’d departed for college, just before the release of “III,” which I overpaid for at the Vermont Book Shop, I was just that big a fan. But although I loved “Gallows Pole,” and became enamored of “Tangerine,” I was disappointed, the band seemed to have gone off track, and with only so much money to spend on LPs, I didn’t bother with IV, I felt they were past their peak.

Now if you lived in civilization, with good radio, you were immediately exposed to “Stairway To Heaven,” IV didn’t jump out of the box like “II,” which was an instant ubiquitous hit, but it got traction, amongst the brain dead headbangers who’d finally grown their hair out and been exposed to FM radio. Yes, I had contempt for them, I was a hipster, all I had were my bona fides, personally established, they might not have meant anything to anybody else, but they were oh-so-important to me.

But I never heard “Stairway.” I just got “Black Dog” and then “Rock And Roll” at Tony’s. No one at Middlebury would be caught dead with Led Zeppelin, everybody cottoned to the Dead and the Allman Brothers and you had to be laid back as opposed to in your face. So…

I was out of the loop.

Self-satisfiedly so. I mean “Rock And Roll”? Is that what you sing about when you’ve completely run out of ideas?

And by time I got back to Connecticut, “Stairway” had run its course. I discovered it eons late, looking at that dumb painting in the gatefold cover at a friend’s abode, he couldn’t believe I didn’t know it, so he played it, I got it, but I didn’t need to hear it ad infinitum.

And then IV was superseded by “Houses Of The Holy,” and to this day I can’t take “D’yer Mak’er,” lame English reggae overplayed on the FM. Which now was beyond its salad days, we started to get countdowns, on holiday weekends, especially Memorial Day, with its 500, and “Stairway” always topped the list.

But it wasn’t until ’75 that I truly got into “IV,” after the release of “Physical Graffiti,” which I came to love, hearing it every damn day after skiing at Mammoth Mountain during the month of May. The guy who brings the stereo controls the music, and one thing about twentysomethings, they love to hear the same damn songs over and over again. But I learned of “Kashmir,” and “Ten Years Gone” and “In My Time Of Dying” and…

IV.

It too was on an 8-track tape. That’s what we were listening to, Jimmy had recorded the albums back in Utah and brought his stereo along. I felt superior to his taste, the Zeppelin, the Doobies, but that’s where my love of each was cemented.

I now needed my own copies. I bought “Physical Graffiti,” I bought IV, and during that month of October when I was back home in Connecticut, training for the freestyle circuit, wondering where my life was going, I listened to them every damn day.

I might have been a college graduate, but it was just like high school. My parents would be in bed, I’d put on the headphones, turn out the light and crank it up. And that’s when “When The Levee Breaks” revealed itself to me.

I call it the heaviest track of all time, because I remember the force pounding in my ears, like Bonzo was hitting the skins with baseball bats, like I was on DMT, this cut with absolutely no airplay entranced me, made me feel like I bonded with these madmen.

And then there was “Going To California,” a state I yearned to get back to, this was the promise of “III,” acoustic, but on target, and… This was before the internet, California was a dream, and “Going To California” was dreamy, they captured the essence, that’s the power of music, when done right it exceeds all other art forms.

And now, in context, with knowledge, I could understand the magic of “Black Dog” and “Rock And Roll,” I’d heard them over and over at Tony’s but there was never any penetration, I knew them but didn’t like them, but now I did.

But the piece de resistance was “The Battle Of Evermore.”

I knew who Sandy Denny was. I’d seen Fairport Convention, albeit after she’d left. Her vocals here seemed part of a continuum, starting with Merry Clayton on “Gimmie Shelter,” moving on to Maggie Bell on “Every Picture Tells A Story” and ending up here. All three women’s vocals were secondary elements of their respective cuts, yet it was their work that put the tracks over the top. They radiated a womanly touch absent from their male counterparts’ work, they added sass and meaning and…all I know is I wanted to bring it back. That month in Mammoth, the clarity I once had, the vision, the direction, I only seemed rooted when I was listening to music.

The sound was so ethereal, the track started over a hill and far away, and then it came front and center, like gypsies coming to town, exotic creatures that could not help but fascinate you.

And as much as “Black Dog” and “Rock And Roll” were headbanging headbeaters, tracks to prove that Zeppelin was the biggest band in the land and you’d better pay attention, “Evermore” seemed to be cut without the audience in mind whatsoever, this was the power of the legendary acts, there was a barrier between them and us, we could get a peak by buying the record, but we could never gain access, they were dark, mysterious figures on an aural journey of their own device.

But by this time, with constant FM overplay, it seemed like only the dimwitted and dull still believed. Sure, “Stairway” was a staple, but “Graffiti” had no singles, “Kashmir” was too heavy for school dances, suddenly I was washed upon a shore with people I wanted nothing to do with, the uneducated blue collar beer drinkers…but then I realized, I was one of them too, I started testifying, how great Led Zeppelin was, as good as they ever were, and I just got eye rolls and stares, statements that the band had peaked on their first LP, with their blues influenced numbers.

Which cast me adrift. I was long gone from Middlebury, and I didn’t want to return. My freestyle career was a bust. I belonged nowhere, except in front of the speakers, with the amplifier cranked to the max. And the funny thing is I could never burn out on these tracks, they continued to satisfy.

I bought a ticket for the Rose Bowl.

Robert had that accident and the show was canceled.

I ended up seeing the band at the Forum in ’77. In a seat close to the ceiling. But I was thrilled just to be inside, they played like they meant it, that they were godhead and you were privileged to be in attendance.

Yes, I was there.

And now you can’t even see Led Zeppelin. Bonzo’s dead and Robert can’t hit the notes and doesn’t want to do it anyway, because he doesn’t believe in nostalgia.

And neither do I. If you’re not going forward you’re being left behind. People want to pigeonhole you, put you in a box, but not only is that inner death, the truth is what people want most is something new.

But that does not mean my entire life is not locked up in these records, that when I play them they don’t reveal experiences and feelings, ironically continuing to reveal new truths.

In case you don’t know, the piper’s calling you to join him.

I’m a member of the cult. Listen to the glorious sound, but beware, you’ll soon be a member too.

That’s the power of music.

That’s the power of Led Zeppelin.

There’s just too much of EVERYTHING!

We’ve got the world at our fingertips, yet we know less than ever before, lack control not only of our government and society, but our personal lives too. We have fear of missing out, but we’re not sure what’s worth doing. The old admire the young and the young laugh at the old but the dirty little secret is the nascent generation can’t handle it either. Turns out you can’t multi-task, that was a media canard that’s been debunked. How do you cope?

Some check out. Especially the oldsters. Not a week goes by when you don’t see an article decrying smartphones or the internet, as if you could turn back time, as if the future doesn’t always arrive.

Others boast that they’ve got it nailed. Somehow, they can update their Facebook page, post on Instagram and keep their job, meanwhile having the free time to tell you all about it. You can either feel inferior or judge them. But the latter is equivalent to hatred, and we all abhor the haters.

Democrats keep calling the Republicans uninformed, which is hard not to do when their candidate keeps espousing falsehoods with no penalty.

And the Republicans feel the Democrats are unaware of their plight. They’re sick of being told what’s going on in their own hometown when the speakers have never set foot there.

And those speaking loudest fly private and don’t engage with anybody but their brethren, they live inside a bubble yet are unaware of this.

There are too many movies. Did you check today’s paper, at least twenty came out, who can keep track, never mind view them. Used to be you knew the up and coming actors from bit parts here and there, now “Vanity Fair” and “TMZ” feature stars you’ve never heard of, and then you ask your children and they haven’t heard of them either. It’s like there’s a whole industry making people famous, but we’ve still got to keep up with the travails of Meg Ryan and Jane Fonda and…how many people can you keep in your brain at one time anyway?

And TV… That’s a constant topic of conversation, what series should I binge on next. And you have to not only collect the data, but pass it through the sieve of the tastemaker’s personality. Sure, “Game Of Thrones” is great, but I don’t like fantasy, now what?

As for music… There are twenty million-odd tracks and it seems whenever you hear something new it either rubs you the wrong way or it’s not quite good enough. And then, when you’re just about to check out, turn the damn thing off, someone serves up something so exquisite you remember how much you love music, but you’ve got no idea how to follow it up, how to find the next great thing.

Babies are scheduled.

Schoolchildren have no free time.

Amy Schumer is working so much she can’t possibly have a personal life. But if you’re not in the public eye 24/7 you’re falling behind. And isn’t it funny how women have mastered this game, it’s the men who are forgotten.

That’s another element. Not only is there too much info, the rules keep changing. New apps take over for old. No one cares about the second link on Google, even the search engine itself, which is more like Wikipedia today, serving up a synopsis as opposed to a link.

And you’re using the service all the time. Nothing is unknown, so you spend endless time looking it up.

And if someone texts you and you don’t get back to them immediately they figure you’re dead, or you’ve ghosted them.

But no one will admit to all this. We’re all keeping up an image. That’s what social media is all about, demonstrating not only our fabulous lives, but that we’ve got it covered, we know it all, when the truth is we know so little.

Youngsters know that if they don’t fight hard for success, they’ll be left behind, there’s no time for finding yourself, watching the wheels go by. Only the toppermost keep telling us this, in their interviews in the media, that a first job is not as important as where you end up. But we can’t get first jobs, and why is it that everybody with a seven digit income has all the answers? College professors are to be pushed back upon, but techies lean in.

But we’re already sick of Sheryl Sandberg, a woman we’ll never meet who we know too much about, actually, more than our neighbors. We hate that which we cannot touch, because we believe it’s holding us back, so we go online and tear them down and these icons protest that they’re just people too.

But exactly what is a person in the teens? Someone who does good deeds, who can keep up their end of a conversation? Or someone who posts really good YouTube clips and has a passel of subscribers. We know money counts, but we’re told everything is about experiences, so we’re confused.

We’re all confused.

This is what the internet, the information revolution, has wrought.

And we haven’t yet figured out a way to cope with it.

And it’s not that it’s bad, it’s just that we’ve got no framework. Playlists try to help, but then there are a zillion of those too. And no one has enough time to weed through all the options.

Is that what life has become, an endless weeding through the options, keeping up to date on social media, maintaining soft ties, titillated by online porn, but sans long term personal relationships?

We used to have leaders, heroes who pointed the way.

Now there are people who tell us they have all the answers, yet ultimately we find out they’re clueless too. Meaning it’s all about us. But it can’t just be about us, we live in a society, there’s got to be a hierarchy, but who’s deserving of our adulation?

That’s the human condition today. We’re all in it together, tied up online, but we’ve never felt so separate, and unsure where to turn next.

We’ll figure it out eventually.

But right now it’s utter chaos.

So this is what it takes to get Led Zeppelin back together.

I was getting worried, I figured this would be a slam dunk, that the jury would come back in an hour or two and let Robert and Jimmy off the hook. The fact that they didn’t showed they were thinking about it.

That’s what it’s come down to, eight nobodies weighing in on the provenance of rock and roll.

But where there’s a hit, there’s a writ. And let’s be honest, Zeppelin has nicked songs before. But seemingly the only person who wanted Spirit to win this case was Randy California’s attorney, the public believed it a bridge too far, don’t mess with the canon, our history, what we live for.

Did Robert and Jimmy tell the truth?

Damned if I know, but I do know someone who lied on the stand in a well-known music industry case. And if you believe selective omission is the same as a lie, well…

Then again, musicians were never known for their honesty, otherwise why would they keep firing managers and exhibiting duplicitous behavior that might deliver short term results, but long term penalties.

Are the tracks similar?

OF COURSE!

Is it infringement?

Well, you’ve got an arcane copyright law that doesn’t square with reality. KInd of like the DMCA and YouTube. Washington and the legal system are always a step behind, and if you look to them to solve your problems you’re gonna waste a lot of time and money and probably end up with a less than satisfactory result. Meaning, the end of the YouTube “value gap” will come from negotiation, not legislation.

And music, despite being made on computers, is not zeros and ones. It cannot be stuck in a framework, evaluated by a machine. It’s amorphous and alive and that’s its appeal.

So chalk one up for the creative community, which believed after the “Blurred Lines” case that everything was up for grabs.

But it had gone too far. That Sam Smith song is not “I Won’t Back Down,” unless you believe that Petty tune is also one of many.

Everybody’s too afraid.

Then again, these same rightsholders killed sampling, changing the trajectory of hip-hop, and have also played whac-a-mole with reuse.

But we don’t live in a vacuum. Nothing’s truly original. We’re a sum of our influences.

But where’s the line?

Who knows.

But it’s been pushed back.

Yet the real revelation at the trial was how little money “Stairway” actually made. The performers’ accountant said Page earned $615,000 and Plant $532,000 since 2011, Rhino said the song grossed $3 million and netted $868,000 in the same period.

THAT’S PEANUTS!

That’s not tech money. Maybe not chump change, but nowhere near the $60 million the plaintiff’s expert alleged.

You see there’s just not that much money in music. Much less than we believe. We think if you’re famous, you’re rich, but this is patently untrue. Of course, the Zeppelin boys had other income from their catalog, they did well, but not as well as they did in the seventies, before financiers raped and pillaged and techies became the new rock stars.

This trial brought rock back to earth. Pulled off the scrim and illustrated that not only are its players old, they care about money. Remember when Zeppelin flew back to England after their Madison Square Garden payment was stolen? They showed up here.

Then again, it’s rumored they stole that money themselves.

Then again, it’s about dignity and reputation.

But…

Feel free to steal again. Know that every juror does not see the famous as a deep pocket. Know that the line is truly blurry.

And if you want to get rich…

DO SOMETHING ELSE!